too. With their bases on Guam and in the Philippines, the Americans were better placed than London had been. Alas, thought Charlie, for the passing of the British Empire, gunships and natives everywhere who knew the words to ‘Rule Britannia’.
The routing signs began to indicate the airport and Levine said, ‘No doubt about it.’
‘Going to be a bastard if the meeting is there,’ said Elliott, echoing the earlier concern.
‘The woman first, then him,’ insisted Levine. ‘Let’s not fuck up by getting the priorities wrong.’
‘Hate to miss the opportunity, after what he did,’ said Elliott.
‘His losing her will be enough,’ said Levine.
‘No it won’t,’ said Elliott. ‘Not half enough.’
In the car in front Charlie leaned forward, indicating to the driver he wanted the military transportation area in the cargo section and not any of the main civilian passenger terminals.
Levine saw the car’s change of direction and said: ‘Shit! We’ll be obvious, if we stay this near!’
Elliott tensed against the windscreen and Levine saw him reach down to unclip the restraining strap on the ankle holster. Levine eased the car back, edging himself behind the hopeful concealment of a food delivery lorry. As he did so he saw the camouflaged markings on some of the parked aircraft they were approaching and said: ‘It checks out, with what he told Fredericks: a military plane.’
‘Where’s the goddamned woman!’ demanded the other American.
Levine saw the taxi stop against the military terminal building and managed to get his car into a filter road and behind a cluster of single-storey sheds.
‘What now!’ said Elliott.
‘We watch and we wait,’ said Levine.
Charlie Muffin entered the control area for transitting foreign military personnel, gazing through a window on to the apron, trying to identify the British aircraft. He saw an Air Force rondel about five aircraft away from the main building.
Sampson responded within minutes to the Tannoy paging, a stiffly upright, closely barbered, open-faced man, obviously military despite the civilian clothing.
‘I was expecting to come to see you, sir,’ said Sampson. There was an eagerness to please about the man.
Charlie tried to remember the last time even a restaurant waiter had called him sir. He said: ‘There was a particular reason.’
‘A lot was explained to me in London,’ said Sampson. ‘When’s it to be?’
‘Today,’ said Charlie. ‘But not from here.’
‘I thought …’
‘Too many interested observers,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m running hare to the hounds.’ It took him fifteen minutes to explain how Irena Kozlov was going to leave Japan, and when he finished Sampson said: ‘Providing she can go through with it, everything sounds remarkably simple. Very little for me to do, in fact.’
‘The best ways are always the simple ones,’ said Charlie. ‘And there’ll be enough to do, from Hong Kong.’
‘How will I recognize her?’
Charlie produced the passport and the photograph from his travel bag and said: ‘Rose Adams.’
Sampson studied the picture, without comment, and then said: ‘She will expect me to be waiting?’
‘At the arrival barrier,’ said Charlie. ‘She’ll have your name.’ Just pick her up, transfer immediately to your own aircraft and head for London. No stop-over. Just go.’
‘What time does her plane get in?’
‘Nine tonight,’ said Charlie. ‘Six o’clock departure from Osaka.’
‘I’ll have a flight plan filed from here for two,’ said Sampson.
‘That should be more than enough time,’ agreed Charlie.
‘Sorry not to have been able to help more,’ said the man.
‘You’re doing everything that’s necessary,’ said Charlie.
Charlie had held the taxi and as it left the airport complex and rejoined the multi-laned highway back into the city, Levine said from the watching car: ‘Checking the escape route. Very professional.’
‘So we know it
‘It’s looking good,’ agreed Levine. ‘Very good indeed.’
Charlie turned back into his seat, in the car in front. This had been the easy part: he hoped the dutifully following CIA men had been lulled into believing it was going to continue just as easily.
They had. On the outskirts of Tokyo, Levine – the more cautious of the two – argued they should pass on to the others the departure arrangements they had confirmed for Irena Kozlov. And when Charlie’s taxi pulled into the shopping arcade entrance leading directly into the tower block in which they knew his room to be, Elliott agreed they had time.
Which they didn’t. Charlie went to the elevator, stayed in it until the first-floor stop and then left, going quickly back down the fire-escape stairs. It could have still gone wrong for him, but for Levine’s second mistake. The American was actually on the lobby telephone to Yamada, the liaison man, when he saw Charlie hurry across the short space from the emergency exit into the corridor to the main exit. Levine slammed the receiver down and instead of following alone decided instead to go back to Elliott in the waiting car. The lapse allowed Charlie to get to the exit, feign a movement towards the waiting taxis to check there was no dark-coloured Nissan carrying two non-Japanese, and then double around behind the loading tourist bus to lose himself among the boarding crowd. Done it! he congratulated himself: left them foundering.
The euphoria was very brief. He looked expectantly around the bus and then, abruptly, checked a second time. Irena Kozlov, whose picture he carried in the waiting passport, wasn’t there.
Fredericks and Harry Fish were still at the American embassy, waiting for the meeting instructions with Kozlov, when the liaison message came through and Fredericks said, triumphantly: ‘We can’t lose!’
‘Doesn’t look like it,’ agreed Fish.
The supervisor shook his head at the other man’s caution. ‘We’ve got the bastard! There’s no way he can get the woman out.’
‘Still can’t make up my mind whether we shouldn’t wait: it’s going to be proof to Kozlov from the word go that we are cheating them,’ said Fish.
‘So what the hell can they do about it!’ demanded Fredericks. ‘Say no, they’ve changed their minds and want to go back! We’ve played footsie long enough with a guy who’s killed one Agency man at least. Once he’s aboard the plane, there’s fuck all protest he or the woman can make. And they know it. From then on, we dictate the game plan.’
‘You know Elliott intends to kill Charlie Muffin, don’t you?’ demanded Fish. ‘How do you think the British are going to react to that, losing an agent as well as a defector?’
‘I don’t give a fuck about how they feel,’ said Fredericks. ‘It was an intentional insult, for London to assign the man in the first place. So everyone gets taught a lesson; so what!’
Fredericks saw personal promotion in this, realized the other American. He said: ‘So let’s hope nothing fouls-up.’
‘You worry too much,’ said Fredericks, confidently. He looked at his watch. ‘Kozlov should be making contact any time now.’
Kozlov let himself into the Shinbashi apartment and sighed, a release of tension. Seized by an abrupt thought he lifted the receiver, to hear that the dialling tone was there and that the instrument was functioning; the best conceived plans could be wrecked by the most inconsequential of things, like suddenly out-of-order telephones. It purred reassuringly in his ear. He sighed again. Now that everything was so close, he was held by an overwhelming feeling of anticlimax. Ridiculous, he thought: far too soon to imagine that nothing could go wrong. He checked the time. The Americans would be expecting him to call soon now.
